


'Teàrnadh Dorchadas

by RittaPokie



Series: Tales From the Dragon Age [3]
Category: Dragon Age Origins
Genre: Mentions of Rape, a sea of angst tbh, backstories, heaps of headcanons, probably some minor universe alterations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Descending Darkness</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Grey Wardens find those who will stand against the Blight, against the ever present sickness that churns underfoot. Just past their Joining, left alone in a world spiraling into chaos, they stand despite their inexperience. Who were they before this madness? Who will they be when it ends?</p><p>My <i>official</i> dragon age origins storyline, with my wardens and some friends' characters as I get more into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  Tough Beginnings

Often, she finds herself staring out of this window. A sea of rooftops and stone streets stretches out before her, far beyond her knowledge of the world. She knows, from reading and listening to others speak, that somewhere past the Imperium are places where she would not live under the thumb of an evil person. They are, however, out of reach.

Sighing, she draws the curtains closed. She looks around the room she stays in until she is taken out, like a porcelain doll. Something to show off, something to play with. The room looks nice, that much is sure. Only the best for her, always. She thinks that perhaps it is out of guilt, but it could also be for the praise he gets from his peers. He is selflessly raising an elf whose family sold her, after all. Beyond that, they know nothing.

She is not sure when or how she realized that what he does to her is wrong. She has never known anything else but abuse, and she wonders at how many others in similar situations must believe it is okay because it is their normal. She thinks she is lucky to have at least one friend in this hell, her master's son. He is older than her by a year and a half, and they came to the realization of his father's evilness at roughly the same time.

He watches her pacing from a seat near the window, his eyes full of sadness. "I wish there was something I could do." He says. "Soon I will be old enough that he will listen to me with some respect...maybe." He sighs.

"It is alright." She says.

"It isn't!" He sighs again when she flinches at his shout. "It isn't right, none of this is. You need to get away from him."

"How?" She asks. "Where would I go? Who would take care of me?"

"You would figure something out. I know you would." He says. "You have survived here this long, why would you not somewhere else?"

"It doesn't matter. There is no opportunity. Am I to just walk out of the door? He would have me back here in an instant."

"Maybe..." His face lights and he ponders for a moment. "He has promised the woman he intends to marry that we will go into the country for a few weeks. We have a smaller estate there. It is very rural...and more importantly it is not far from Nevarra's border."

He beckons her to follow him into his room and pulls a map from under his bed. It is clearly copied with his own hand, and a bit scrawled, but readable and accurate enough. "See." He says, and points to where the estate is on the map. "Much closer than we are now. If...if there ever was a chance, this is it."

"And if he kills me as soon as he finds out?" She asks.

"Is this life really any better than death?"

  
\---

  
"It is that way." He says after staring into the sky to work out the directions by the setting sun. "And past Nevarra is Orlais... When you get there, head to the sea, to a ship, and...Ferelden should be far enough that he will not search."

"You see from your map. I see nothing but land in front of me." She says. "No salvation, only danger."

"What do you see here?"

"Also danger." She sighs. "You are sure he is busy?"

"Yes." He nods. "You have been like a sister to me, and one day I will make him pay for the evil things he has done to you."

She does not know how to say goodbye in way that he will understand what he means to her, so she says nothing. He watches until she disappears into the line of a forest with the same silence as hers. Children who cannot find words for the depth of the despair they should never have to feel.

  
\---

  
Terrified and caked in mud, she quickly finds herself feeling her way through dense foliage in pitch blackness. The sun set long ago, but she fears that if she allows herself to sleep or even rest, she will lose her way. So, she continues on. Even when her eyelids droop and she stumbles, even though her clothes and skin are torn from brambles.

She begins to wonder if she made a horrible mistake long before she reaches the end of the forest and sees a small barn in the distance, illuminated by the crescent moon above her. Suddenly energized by hope, she sprints towards it and sighs in relief when it is not locked. She climbs into the loft and over a stack of hay bales to get into a corner. She is concealed from the rest of the barn, safe, and she finally, finally lets her eyes close.

  
The sound of a voice below jolts her awake. She brushes loose hay aside and peers through the spaces between the boards. The rancher speaks lovingly to sheep that return the conversation in their own way. He laughs along as if he can understand what they say. She does not think he actually can, but the bond he seems to have with the animals reassures her in a way she cannot place. The mousing cats around the mansion always hissed at her master, as if they sensed bad things within him.

The reassurance is not enough to draw her from her hiding place, but it does help her keep quiet until he leaves. From his talking, she knows he will be in the fields for the majority of the day, so after waiting a while, she creeps out and down to the watering trough. She is so thirsty that she does not mind drinking after the animals. The water is lukewarm and tastes of dirt, but it soothes her cracked lips and raw throat.

Peering around the cracked open doors of the barn, she sees a small, cobblestone house not far from the barn. She assumes it to be the rancher's home. There is a chimney, but no smoke rising from it. A small garden on the South side of it catches her eye and her stomach growls. She has no idea when food is supposed to be harvested, but she thinks she might not mind eating unripened vegetables with how hungry she is, having been fleeing for more than two days with no food and very little water.

Her stomach rumbles again and she whimpers. If the rancher has a family, they could see her, and they would surely send her back to her master. He would offer a reward for her, at least at first. With such a small home and so few sheep, how could this family afford to turn him down? Hunger forces her out of the barn anyway. The way she crouches and slinks along the ground would amuse her with how it reminds her of thieves in tales she has heard, but she is too scared to enjoy anything.

When she gets to the garden, she lays on her stomach with tall grass brushing over her back in the wind, and waits for a moment. Nothing but silence meets her so she pulls herself into a sitting position and studies the garden more closely. She knows very little about plants, but recognizes a few things from the gardens around her master's mansion, such as the stem and leaves of sweet potatoes. She has never had one raw before, but digs it up, brushes the dirt off, and bites into it anyway. Once again, the taste of dirt doesn't deter her. She puts the half she does not eat in her pocket, along with a few tomatoes and a few things she does not recognize.

She silently thanks the rancher, though he does not and will never know she was here, and continues on in the direction her master's son pointed her in.

  
\---

  
"A city must be up ahead." She whispers to herself from her hiding place among the brush as she watches yet another carriage go past her on the road. She has seen them go back and forth on the road for hours, sometimes more than one at a time. From the language the people are speaking, she knows she must at least be near Orlais. Earlier, she had washed herself and her clothes in a nearby stream. After, she took up her current place while she waited to dry. Her clothes may be tattered from running through forests, but they are mostly clean.

It is nearly nightfall when she is finally dry and brave enough to go the direction that the carriages full of merchandise were going. Along the way, she finds a small silver statuette half buried in dust.

  
The guards at the gates to the city barely even glance at her as she enters the city, but a few well-dressed humans sneer in disgust at her matted hair and ripped clothes. She pays them no mind and continues into the city until she finds a market with people dressed in simpler clothing.

She approaches an old woman behind a merchant's cart and clears her throat before trying to speak. Her face flushes in embarrassment when she cannot seem to find her voice and fumbles over any word she does get out. Frustrated with herself, she holds out the statuette and points to a small basket of plums. The old woman smiles sadly at her and puts a few of the fruits into her hands. She nods in thanks and hurries away into a darker corner of the market.

The fruits sate her hunger completely and even ease her thirst a bit. She is thankful, as some of the unknown things she stole from the farmer had made her mouth feel like it was full of cotton. She assumes it is because some of them were unripened...and raw.

A small, filthy human child stares at her from the shadows behind a stack of crates in the alley she finds herself in, eyeing the last plum in her hand with desperation in his eyes. She leaves it on the crates as she passes, doubting that he would approach her even if she offered it. He looked quite untended and possibly feral. There were many like that in the markets in the Imperium, those whose parents were too proud to sell themselves.

She finds her way to the port, following people who smell of salt, liquer, and the dank underbelly of ships. For all the view of her window back in her master's mansion daunted her, it is nothing compared to open water. It hardly seems like an escape to her, more like an end. Logically, she knows that ships are more than capable of traversing seas, it seems hard to imagine when she is really faced with the unending vastness of blue.

  
She wonders how she will ever get onto one of the ships, as she has seen people paying to board them. She has no coin in her pockets, and no way to get any. Late in the evening though, she watches as a frightened woman hurries a child onto a vessel after the guard has passed by on patrol. The woman returns to the dock and sobs softly to herself as she leaves the dock.

Sympathy fills her, but she pushes it back. There is nothing she can do for the woman, but she can do something for herself. She waits for the guard to pass by again and stealthily makes her way onto a ship. On her way down into the hold, she almost trips over a large, heavy looking dog. It makes a huffing sound when her foot hits it and she almost squeals before catching herself with her fingers between spacings in the boards of the walls. She freezes in fear before easing around the sleeping beast and pads quickly down to the underbelly of the ship and behind crates. The air is thick and almost chokes her with its staleness, but she represses the need to cough and settles down for the night. The name on the side of the ship sounded Fereldan, which is why she chose it.

  
Again, she is awoken by voices. The door to the hold opens and disturbs the dust inside, and again she supresses a cough. "Shipment from the 'vints? Bet it's spirits again." An older man slurs to a young man in ragged clothes. "An' I mean liquer, but ye can't never tell with them." He laughs throatily, seeming not to notice that the younger does not share his mirth. "Check the crates fer rabbits. Wouldn't want any Mages comin' lookin' for the scrawny pests."

Her blood runs cold at the command and she backs further into a corner. "Aye, sir." The young man's voice is notably more sober and gentle, but it does not ease her fear. "I'll get right on it. You should get back on deck before cap'n comes lookin', sir."

She peeks from her hiding spot behind the crates. Her hands catch on splintery wood as she grips the crates with white knuckles, but she hardly notices. "Once the greatest nation in Thedas," He says to himself. "Now trying to besot the South so we can't fight back. How...in character." He sounds amused. "All they ever bloody send is wine. Half never makes it to port and cap'n wonders why. It's yer damn first mate, ser, always pissed out his mind. How the man's not dead from the drinking, I'll never know."

She gasps when the ship rocks her into the crate and she sees the man freeze and look in her direction. The shadows are enough to make her nearly invisible, but she moves further behind the crates anyway. "Someone there?" He calls out. "Calder? S'that you messin' with me again? I told you stop it, s'not funny."

She presses as close to the crate as she can, the sway of the ship as it leaves port digging splinters into her skin and clothes. When she dares another peek, she sees only his dark blue eyes. She sucks in a deep breath and holds it to keep from screaming. "Well, well, well." He says, squatting to be level with her. "What've we got here?"

She makes a noise something like a squeak and backs against the wall. His face softens and he sits down fully on the floor, as if he is trying to gain the trust of a stray cat. She does not take the bait. "C'mon now, I won't hurt you." He says, but she shakes her head, holding her arms around herself tightly. "The times he's made me look, there's never actually been an elf."

She shakes her head again, though she does not know what for, exactly. "You've had a time, I see." He nods. "A lil one too. You've seven, eight summers behind you?"

"Eleven." She croaks, throat sore and dry from lack of water. It is the first time she has spoken to someone since leaving the Imperium.

He tsks. "Weren't takin' good care of you then, whoever had you." He shakes his head solemnly and stands. "Name's Darcey."

"I-" She mumbles, but pauses. She has nothing. No one ever called her anything but elf. Her master only ever called her 'pet' or 'cur' depending on his mood. "I do not have one..."

"S'alright. I didn't either 'til I was a bit younger than you're." He smiles. "You'll find it for yourself. For now, some water and bread, yeah?"

She nods eagerly. She does not trust him, cannot afford to, but she is hungry and thirsty. "Please." She murmurs out of habit.

\---

"What're you plannin' when you get to Ferelden?" Darcey asks when he brings her water on the eighth day at sea. "Got family there, or...?"

She shakes her head. "I have nothing."

"That's a bad lot in life." He sighs. "I was there, once, but I was lucky. Someone took pity."

"I have no idea what I will do." She says. "It is better than what I left behind."

"That don't sound good." He frowns and she shakes her head. "There's an orphanage in the alienage in Denerim, where we'll dock. Dunno what it's like, but...better than the streets I imagine. They'll feed you, at least."

"Thank you."


	2. Prologue:  Where We Were

"We'll be docked here for a few days, s'if you need anything..." Darcey says after she is safely off the ship and unsuspected. "I don't have coin, but there's food here and I'll share."

"The orphanage will be fine, I think." She says. "Thank you...for everything."

  
"Hey." A man stops her on the street. "Hey, uh...this is going to sound odd, but I wanted to ask about your hair."

She eyes him warily, eyes squinting. "My hair?"

"Yes, I...well, I shouldn't tell you why I need it." He sighs, "It's not as weird as it sounds, I swear. I'll pay you for it."

"Pay me? For my hair?" Her face scrunches more in confusion.

"Yes." He nods, sighing again.

"I...bring me something to cut it with." She says. "I am not leaving the market to do this, I do not trust you."

"P-perfectly reasonable." He says, and hands her a knife. "As much of it as you'll part with..."

She combs her fingers through her hair a few times, shaking it to its full length and pulling it into a tail in her hand and bringing the knife around to chop it. She hands him over two feet of it along with the knife before running her fingers through her now much shorter locks. Her master never cut it, having loved her hair, and it feels strange to be without it.

"Thank you. And...thank you for not questioning..." He hands her twenty silver and retreats back down an alley.

A smile tugs at her lips. It feels cleaner, and not just because her hair had been matted so often during her escape, but also...she cannot place the feeling, to have destroyed something her master treasured.

  
She finds her way to the alienage in denerim, getting fewer disgusted looks now that she does not have tangled hair hanging to her thighs. The orphanage is easy to find, with children playing outside of it. Fear fills her again as she enters it. She worries that it is not appropriate to do so. She has so little experience with interacting with people if she is not being shown like a trophy.

"Welcome." A young elf woman asks as she enters. She does not glance up until after she has spoken, and gasps when she sees the young elf. "Maker's mercy. Are you alone?"

She nods, losing her voice again. "Can you speak?" The woman asks.

She looks down at her feet again, cheeks burning. She does not understand where this inability to talk has come from. She had never been expected to speak when her master took her places, but she never had difficulties speaking to his son.

"It's alright. Can I get you something to eat?" The woman approaches her and she flinches when she feels hands moving her face. She knows the woman is checking for injuries, but still she fears. She shakes her head in response to the woman's question. "Okay. I think we have something that'll fit you..." She tugs at the torn shirt and tsks.

"Thank you." She suddenly blurts, surprising herself as much as she surprises the woman.

"So you can talk." the woman laughs. "I'm Delia, by the way. And you are?"

She shakes her head. "I have no name."

The smile falls from Delia's face and she sighs softly to herself. She must guess where this young elf comes from, then. "Alright, well...I'm sure we'll think of something."

  
Once she has cleaned up and changed, Delia shows her the few rooms in the orphanage, and makes up a bed for her. "The other children are outside, but you don't have to go out if you don't want to."

She nods and curls up in the bed, sighing happily at having a soft place to rest again. "Thank you." She mumbles to Delia again before she drifts off to sleep.

  
\---

  
"It's true, I swear. Two Banns in one room." The young brunette chortles. "Scandal if I've ever heard one."

"And you've heard plenty, Nicky." His companion chuckles. His dark cheeks are flushed from the wine his friend has been giving him for free.

"How are you?" Nicky asks, "It's been a while since we last spoke...when they ousted you for being too old."

"You're next." The other says. "Soon as you hit eighteen years, it's goodbye, no one wants you. Well, I have learned that a great many people do want me, just in...a different way than I expected."

"Really? So you're at the Pearl now?" Nicky winces. "I hate that you've come to that. Not that-it's a respectable career, I'm not judging, it's just-...you're doing it to keep from starving. It's not fair."

"It's not, but it's how life goes."

"Tyril..." Nicky sighs.

"No, don't do that pitying thing you do. I'm fine." Tyril says. "Just...keep bringing wine when I come in here, please." He swallows another gulp of the drink and sinks lower in his chair.

  
"Delia, please." Tyril says. "I have no where to go. I didn't make enough today for the cost of a bed."

"I'm sorry, I really am, but we can't spare room for you." She sighs. "You've been on your own for a year, have you really not found work? You're a smart boy."

"I really haven't found work! Nothing that pays well, anyway..." He says. "I need help...this is my last stop tonight. If I can't stay here, then I-I'm on the street."

"I'm sorry."

"I-" The elven girl mumbles. "Here." She opens his hand and puts ten of the twenty silver she made earlier into his palm.

He stares at her in awe for a moment before clutching the coins to his chest. "Thank you...I mean it, really. I'll pay you back."

"No need." She says, shaking her head. "We should be safe when we sleep."

"You have a good voice." He says. It catches her off guard and she tilts her head to the side. "It's sharp, like a bell. It'll carry."

"...Thank you." She says, marveling at his strangeness.

"I'm sure you'll do something great with it. Like command an army or something." He smiles. "Thank you for the silvers."

  
\---

  
"Greagoir." He greets, leaning against the doorway of the Templar commander's bedroom.

"Knight-Commander." The older man corrects immediately. "You startled me, Rowan."

"Oh? Snuck up on by a Mage? You must be getting rusty." The brunette laughs. "Too much time at a desk and not enough time running us through with swords."

"Did you come here for something?" Greagoir asks. "Or did you sneak out after dark just to insult me?"

"Well..." Rowan sighs. "I was just thinking...must get lonely, being you. I know I get lonely in this tower. There's...so much fear in the air, all the time."

"You play a dangerous game." Rowan hears in his mind. The damned spirit again. It is usually quiet, but never just lets him make his own bad choices. Sometimes, the bad decision has to be made. "He will think you are a blood mage, or possessed by desire."

"And, if we're both lonely..." He continues, ignoring the spirit, and pushes off the door frame. "I thought we could, maybe...talk."

"Oh really? Talk?" Greagoir looks at him with tired eyes, already onto his play. "Rowan, go back to your quarters."

"Is that what you really want?" Rowan asks, keeping his gaze steady. The spirit is right, the Commander could easily assume him possessed with desire, as this is exactly the behavior of such a demon. "Because I know what I want, and it is my want alone. It is not influenced by anything, no matter what you may think."

"I am much older than you."

"Oh? I suppose I should chase after Mages my own age, then? All full of fear and easily twisted to the whims of demons? Should I take a lover only to lose them to the fade?" Rowan snarls, suddenly angry. "So many would see this as the wrong choice, but it is not. Does a Mage not benefit from a Templar sleeping at their side? Would demons tempt those who will be struck down upon waking?"

"I apologize. My intention was not to upset you." The commander sighs. "This is not allowed, and you know it. No matter what anyone wants, that fact remains."

Rowan is silent at the door for a moment before shutting it, his expression turning curious. "You...you never said you don't want this..."

Sighing heavily, the other approaches him, crowding him against the door. Rowan's body buzzes with excitement when Greagoir turns the lock.

  
\---

  
"The truthful and the dishonest, hands nailed to their sides, if only to keep them from clasping at one another." Mark reads softly from his own journal. There is little to do until the ink dries. "Hands clasp in front or behind. Which shows truth, which shows lie? Either, depending on the teller."

He touches gently at the top of the page and scowls when it smudges slightly before continuing. "Afraid of their truth, one may twine their fingers in front to shield. Confident in the truth, one could clasp them behind to show they have nothing to hide." He says. "The same one could be arrogant in their lie, clasp their hands behind to challenge others to question. Or one could be terrified the lie will be found out, and clasp in front."

"Hush." His apprentice says from her bed. "I'm trying to nap."

"Kici, darling, you're meant to be learning."

"And you're meant to be teaching." She counters. He smiles, proud of his young apprentice. She has always been full of fire and joy. It is a delicate combination to maintain. He hopes that he will not make her susceptible to pride with his coddling and praise.

He clears his throat and continues reading. "The Templars do not read this as well as they think. I have caught many in their lies, certainly more than them."

"Good for you." Kici says, sitting up, her tight curls bouncing as she moves. "Are you going to boast at me for today's lesson."

"The Templars are always on the watch for blood Mages, as they should be, because maleficar are always among us." He reads. "Greedy Mages giving up their bodies and souls for power, which they can then do absolutely nothing with. We are locked away in a tower. We learn to control our magic, but there is little to do but play with it. What point is there in making deals with demons?"

"So, making deals with demons is pointless because we lack purpose?" She asks. "Would it not be if we had cause?"

"There is always an exception, a cause great enough." He says. "However, we will never face such a thing."

"Oh, don't let the Templars hear you talking like that." She laughs.

"There are two types of Mages who become maleficar." He reads. "One, the greedy, power hungry Mages. The ones that always want more, more, more. Like Uldred. I'll go to my grave believing that man is a blood mage-anyway. And, two- Templars say that pride is the most dangerous of our sins, but they are only partially right. The opposite end of the scale is just as dangerous, if not more so. If someone is proud of who they are, what they can do, they will not seek more power. They are happy the way they are. Two, Mages who think they are worthless. Mages who think they amount to nothing will resort to more and more extreme measures to prove themselves, meaning: blood magic."

"So you're damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"Not necessarily. On one hand you get Pride demons, on the other, Desire." He says. "Sure, Pride demons are stronger, but they are also far more rare than Desire demons. Desire poses the greatest threat to us, in my opinion. People are, by nature, greedy. The Chantry teaches this. The Maker made us to always hunger for more, because his first children displeased him with their satisfaction. We were meant to be flawed. We were meant to want things."

"Did the Maker create us to be possessed?" She asks. "Demons always want more too. Perhaps that is our purpose."

"It's just as plausible as any other theory, honestly. It is good that you interrupt, that you question. Curiosity and the need to know the truth are a Mage's most powerful tools. Demons do not hold up well to clever questions." He says, heart swelling with pride again. "Blood magic is draining for the user, but the same could be said for Lyrium and the Templars. Templars poison themselves to stand a chance against us. The most dangerous magics are at opposite ends of the scale."

"Templars aren't mages."

"No, but they do use magic of a sort. Mages can learn these same abilities in the Arcane school of magic." He explains. "The Chantry doesn't like to think of it that way. Mages are born with Lyrium in our blood, which gives us mana to use magic. Templars drink it, which gives them mana to use magic."

"Interesting." She hums. "I hadn't thought of that."

"And they become something other than what they were. If they try to stop using it, most of them die or go mad. There are very few that survive the withdrawal." He says. "It makes me wonder about them. Some Mages are more powerful than others, some can barely hold a simple spell. Perhaps there are those with such little magic in their blood that they do not experience the change, but...it affects them all the same. Mages are able to drink lyrium with less of the negative side effects."

"So...you think some Templars are Mages?" She asks. "That's a heretical idea."

"Perhaps." He chuckles. "There is no progress without heretics and rebels, though. Just be careful not to be too rebellious."

"Enough to get them thinking, not enough to make them mad." She says, nodding to the last line in his journal.

"Exactly."

  
\---

  
"Sister, you shouldn't be wandering off on your own." The younger twin says, his face stern. "Especially not to the docks. Who knows what sort of sinister character hangs around there."

"Not you, since you never go." She counters. "Austen, I've been many times. It's fine."

"Puck and I worry for your safety." He sighs. "I only pester out of love."

"I know. I love you too." She pats his still slightly chubby cheeks. He has yet to lose the appearance of youth, which makes him hard to take serious. "But knock it off."

  
She leans on the stone wall of the tavern on the docks, sighing and taking in her surroundings. Plenty of filthy sailors have thrown backhanded compliments her way, but none are interesting enough to hold her attention. She is just about to give up and leave when a man not much older than her approaches. His skin is a rich brown and his eyes sparkle the color of the deep sea. "Pardon, miss." He says, inclining his head. "Is there anything I can help with?"

She hums and studies him. He is reasonably attractive, if a bit rugged. "Perhaps." She says.

"Docks aren't the best place for young noblewomen." He says. "Sailors aren't usually very polite."

"You seem rather well mannered." She says. "Doesn't that make you evidence to the contrary?"

"Let's say I'm a rare diamond in the rough." He chuckles. "May I ask why you've come here?"

"I was seeking a distraction." She shrugs. "Being noble is comfortable, but boring. I've found it doesn't suit me."

"And being on the docks with a bunch of sweaty pigs does?" He laughs, and she likes the way it sounds. Light, despite his deep voice, and full of innocent joy. "I don't blame you. I usually seek...distractions outside my class too."

"Oh, is that so?" She asks. "What's your fancy?"

"Beautiful and charming. Out of my reach, usually." He answers. "And yours?"

She giggles, tucks a finger into the collar of his shirt, and pulls him into a room at the tavern she had reserved earlier.

  
\---

  
Sunlight streams in through the window. They should not be in bed so late in the afternoon, but their duties afforded them a few moments alone. Puck traces the other man's jaw up to his red hair, a lazy grin on his face. "Do you know how much I love you?" He whispers.

"You were very...vocal...about it, moments ago." Gilmore chuckles. "So, yes. And I love you too."

Puck laughs and hides his blushing face against the other man's shoulder. "Stop it, you." He says. "I'm not loud."

"Not loud, no, but vocal." He insists. "I like it...a lot."

"I'm glad." The brunet mumbles.

"Could I ask for a repeat demonstration?"

Puck laughs again. "Anything for you."

  
\---

  
"We always end up on hunts together." Tamlen wonders aloud.

"Yes, almost like someone works very hard for it to be that way." Lyna says meaningfully. "Almost like someone is neglecting their apprenticeship. Or two someones." She glances at Rusca.

"I wonder who would do such a thing." Tamlen jokes, patting the two of their heads.

"I thought you said there were shem out here." Rusca says. "I brought my bow. I'd hate to waste the trip."

"Yes! Fucking shem. They shouldn't even be out here." Lyna says. "We have to make them learn."

"Shush, both of you." Tamlen says, laughing. "I'm the oldest so I'm in charge. We'll get to the shem when we get to them."

"Oh yes, oh great one. Lead us to our duty." Lyna scoffs. "Whatever would we do without you."


End file.
